


vinculum

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Series: Swordsworn [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Mild Blood, One Shot, Rituals, Soul Bond, Swordsworn AU, mentioned gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: The King must bind each of his Swordsworn with a shimmering blade to the heart. Noctis has never found it simple or easy.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Swordsworn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804054
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	vinculum

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a thing rattling around my head that I've started calling "Swordsworn AU"— a loose collection of ideas centered on the King forming magical bonds with his retainers.

His first Swordsworn is Gladio, who begins preparing for the ceremony when Noctis is twelve. Noctis has barely learned to summon a sword, and what follows are many summer evenings in the grounds, practicing again and again to hold the blade steady and translucent until the air is shrill with cicadas— or perhaps that’s his head. 

The day arrives, and Gladio kneels before him. Even in this position, they’re still eye to eye. But there’s none of his usual cockiness, his gaze is firm and resolute, as though he’s summoning up the steadfastness for both of them. Faced with his composure, Noctis finds his own center, stills his shaking hands, and calls forth the shimmering sword. Duty and honor. This is how it’s meant to be. The flash of the blade sinks into the flesh over Gladio’s heart and winks out, leaving behind a thin tear in his uniform and a line of blood, a measure of Noctis’s clumsiness that tracks down and drips red on the floor. It goes unmentioned.

“You did good, kid,” Gladio says as they leave the hall. Noctis senses nothing but pride through the bond between them. The scar never quite fades, but judging by the way Gladio leaves his shirt open, he doesn’t mind at all.

* * *

Ignis’s turn comes a few years later, when it’s finally time for him to join the Crownsguard officially. He’s been training for years, grown tall and athletic, and studiously ignored Noctis’s hints that an advisor should stay out of the line of fire. But few things are about what Noctis wants, and this particular thing is about what Ignis wants, so he stands obediently as Ignis straightens his collar and cape, and arranges his hair around his crown. His hands are always so gentle, it’s hard to imagine them gripping a bloodied weapon.

The Crystal’s chamber seems smaller than the one in his memories, exaggerated by childhood fears, but the chill air still hums with an energy just louder than the blood in his own ears, and tastes like sucking on a mouthful of nails. Windowless and lined with black marble, the chamber could just as easily have been fifty floors underground as fifty in the air. He stands before the metal vault, collection of crystal weapons slowly circling. Ignis kneels, posture maintained, uniform uncreased, eyes fixed on Noctis’s, full of pride and affection. When the blade enters him, his lips part in a gasp, but no sound escapes him.

He checks after they have left the room, anxious fingers on shirt buttons and a sigh of relief— this time he didn’t leave a mark. Their new connection settles on his shoulders like a blanket, warms him from the inside out like a cup of coffee.

* * *

When his engagement is decided, there is a scramble to induct the last of his Swordsworn.

* * *

Prompto laughs and jokes and talks too high and too fast, and Noctis stops him in the hallway before they even reach the chamber. Hands on his shoulders, like he’s holding Prompto at a distance even as he keeps him put, gaze fixed somewhere on the wall behind him.

“You… don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“What, after we both got up early for it?” Prompto jests. Noctis returns his laugh, but weakly.

The ceremony begins. Prompto kneels like a man unused to kneeling, and shuffles forward minutely once he’s on the ground. His hands fidget before he remembers they should be at his sides. He looks up, nervous and earnest and trying to meet Noctis’s eyes, but Noctis’s own gaze ricochets like a pinball. He needs to stay calm. He needs to project an air of confidence, of authority, to be a source of reassurance, but he… Can’t. All he can think is, what if this goes wrong? Images surge into his mind, blades and blood and opened flesh before him. A desert road and a body on bloodstained sands.

Prompto catches his gaze and holds. Noctis takes a deep breath, and the blades unfurl like wings.


End file.
